


Where dignity and pride fought for their place

by LigeiaMaloy



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Friendship/Love, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:43:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LigeiaMaloy/pseuds/LigeiaMaloy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I'm young, I'm smart, I'm great at capturing whatever you guys want me to capture. I'm the best. Would be a waste not to be confident, right?”</p><p>“A kid, street-smart at best and great at yapping like a mutt. Go to bed, Scout.”</p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Sometimes, RED's Sniper just wants to enjoy a few hours in blissful solitude and silence, with only his weapons for company.<br/>Too bad that the Scout had obviously made up his mind to annoy the hell out of him. </p><p>As it turned out, the young man didn't just need a listener, but a friend and a teacher, and it seems like the Sniper did not have a say in this. Oh well, at least he brought beer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. - 1-

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little story about two guys spending some time with each other and slowly developing what could be called some kind of friendship. Hey, this is a TF2 fanfic, we all know what friendship leads to in those. So don't worry, there will be more than drinking and talking, but give those guys time to get to know and like each other.
> 
> Sorting things out doesn't always happen within 24 hours, but maybe in 5 chapters or so that will be updated whenever they are ready, but hopefully once a week. The rating might change to mature later.
> 
>  
> 
> Ah, already talking too much again. Have fun and enjoy this little piece about Sniper/Scout-bonding time!

**Where dignity and pride fought for their place**

**\- Part 1 -**

Maintaining rifles was an Engineer's duty.  
As a member of Team RED it was the Engineer’s job to make sure that every weapon was fully functional, with enough ammunition at every mercenaries disposal. The Engineer was a skilled man with a knack and passion for machines, and most of his team-members were glad they could leave to him what they sometimes considered to be a tedious task.  
  
For the Sniper, however, it was bliss.  
  
Sniper remembered very well that certain day three years ago, when he had been introduced to the team.  
The Engineer had greeted him with a firm handshake and a broad, Texan drawl. Fighting hard to keep control over the twitching corners of his mouth, the new Sniper had  thanked him for the warm welcome rather stiffly. Later that evening, they had found themselves emptying several mugs of beer and laughing heartily as they mocked each others' accents.  
  
Ever since, Sniper had trusted him, as a friend and as the reliable backbone of the whole bunch.  
The Engineer probably knew more about rifles and guns than the Sniper himself. This, however, would never be a reason for him to give up moments like this – peaceful solitude, the night sky stretching above him, a fire for warmth, a beer for chilling, and his good old rifle for company.  
  
Tilting the weapon in his outstretched hands, he inspected the gunstock through narrowed eyes. Made of the heartwood of a walnut tree, the polished surface gleamed in a dark red where it reflected the lazy flames of the campfire. Beautiful.  
The Sniper pulled the trigger. He nodded, letting an approving grunt follow the metallic click when the bolt snapped into its position. Beautiful, too.  
  
He leaned back and put the weapon on his lap. In a pile of different-sized clothes, he searched for a clean rag, only to spoil the white fabric with a few drops of gun oil. Humming to himself, he began to polish the barrel. In the light of the fire, the black metal started to shine like solid, shaped water.  
  
A wonderful night, he thought to himself. He should follow the example of his team mates soon and get ready to go to bed. It was close to midnight, and the next day's mission would start earlier than usual.  
But this was the first summer night this year; the air was still clear – a reminder of a too cold and rainy spring – but already warm enough to sit outside late without feeling chilly. Just a little bit longer, only until he would have finished with the barrel. After that, just quickly polishing the stock again, removing stray smears of oil and his fingerprints, then he would call it a night.  
  
He had forgotten how the song in his head continued and started from the beginning. A nice, catchy upbeat he had heard on the radio a few days ago. When was the last time he had cleaned the the lens of the scope? Maybe he should replace it - after all, he had all the tools spread around him anyway, would be a waste to neglect one of the most important parts of his rifle. No stress, no hurry, no danger. Just relaxing a little bit more like this. As long as he could catch a few hours of sleep after that, he should be okay tomorrow.  
  
“Yo! Sniper!”  
  
He pulled the trigger.  
  
He had been lost in the feeling of weight of the weapon he had gently pressed against his shoulder, pretending to aim at an invisible enemy in the darkness.  
  
A voice calling out to him at this hour had been the last thing he would have expected.  
  
Fortunately, he hadn't loaded the weapon for tomorrow yet, or the intruder’s stomach would now be decorated by a round, deadly hole.  
  
The Sniper swallowed a growl while his focus returned to the rifle. Whatever had brought the Scout out here in the middle of the night, it couldn’t be of any importance. What was worse - it was certain to disturb the tranquility that had been surrounding him.  
The odds were bad, but maybe, for once, Scout would be sensible and realize he wasn't welcome and just go away.  
  
“What are ya doing?” Not waiting for an invitation that wasn't to come, the young man sat down. His backpack was dropped next to him. A soft click and the whizzing sound coming right after that – Sniper sighed, feeling watched from across the fire between them. When Scout made himself comfortable with a can of beer he would really have to make himself clear and tell the youth to leave. Now.  
  
“Scout.” He lifted his head. Something was thrown at him. He caught it quickly, before it flew past his head, against the van standing right behind him.  
  
“Eh, not bad for an old man!” The Scout grinned while Sniper looked at the item in his hand. Another canned beer.  
  
“Scout,” Sniper tried again, trying to decide if he should place the offered drink on the sand or throw it back. But the Scout stopped him with a wave of his hand.  
  
“Don't mind me, man. Ya busy, no problem.” His grin widened and pointed at himself. “After all, I'm entertaining for two.”  
The Sniper gave a snort.  
  
“Well, ya sure are confident for two.” He opened the beer, took a long gulp and placed it on the ground.  
  
“Man, what can I say?” Scout stretched his arms – still holding his beer – and his back, and let himself drop onto the sand. Staring into the sky, he drank from his own can before he answered. “I'm young, I'm smart, I'm great at capturing whatever you guys want me to capture. I'm the best. Would be a waste not to be confident, right?”  
  
“A kid, street-smart at best and great at yapping like a mutt. Go to bed, Scout.”  
  
“Come on, man.” Sheer stubbornness had taken hold of his features when he sat up at the Sniper's curt remark. “Told ya not to mind me. Go on with whatever ya doing. But don't talk like my mom, 'kay?”  
  
“If ya mom was here she'd drag ya into ya bunk by yer ear.”  
  
“Don't think so.” The Scout pulled a grimace and raised his beer to him. “I'm a bit too old for that. Cheers!” He emptied the can and grabbed another one from his backpack. His feet began to twitch. He stretched out his legs , feeling the warmth from the fire through the soles of his shoes. The Sniper had started to hum again, intensely inspecting the barrel of the long gun.  
  
“How old are you anyway, Sniper?” he finally asked.  
  
“37,” was the short reply.  
Scout stared into the fire. There was not much of the wood left and it would die away soon.  
  
“That's pretty old.”  
  
“Thought so of adults, too, when I was a kid.” The Sniper chuckled.  
  
“Damn, idiot, I was just sayin' that 'cause...hey, don't act like I'm a kid! I'm an adult, I'm 23 and...”  
  
“Good for you,” Sniper interrupted the Scout's speech briskly enough to make the Scout fell silent.  
  
If the stock was polished for another hour, it would crumble into sawdust, the Sniper thought to himself, slowly running out of ideas what else he could do to remain too occupied to pay attention to this uncalled-for visitor. He lifted the rifle and pretended to check the magazine.  
Glancing over the comb of the firearm, he seized up the Scout and the expression in his face within seconds. With a sigh, he shrugged and, carefully, put the weapon beside him and pulled a small, crumbled package from a pocket of his vest.  
  
“Okay, kid.” He put a cigarette between his lips and lighted it. He hadn't been mistaken. The sullen set of the young man's mouth was nothing new to him or to the other men of the team, unlike the frustration the Sniper read in the usually so cocky Scout's eyes.  
He could turn it around as he wanted – there was nothing else to fix or clean at the rifle. The kukri was still in the Engineer’s workshop, waiting to be picked up by him tomorrow, the edge thin and sharp again like it used to be on its first day. So this offered no excuse either.  
The can Scout had offered him still wasn't empty. The given circumstances, he might as well enjoy the beer along with a smoke, and ask what was bothering the sulky kid.  
  
“‘kay, Scout. No mucking around. Whaddya want from me?  
  
“No idea what ya talking about. Just thought - why not havin' a drink and a chat. About the day and such. Between men, ya know.”  
  
“Hm.” Sniper breathed the smoke out, looking thoughtfully at the grayish swirls as they dissolved slowly in the air. It was getting colder. “And the reason why ya buggin' me and not the others is...?”  
  
“I'm not buggin' anyone, got it?” Scout snapped at him and slammed his beer onto the ground, spilling some of the liquid. Forcefully, he jumped back to his feet and grabbed his backpack. “Don't have to put up with crap like that. Buggin'. As if!”  
  
“So the others told ya to shut it or piss off, refusing to listen to anything ya think ya have to tell them.” Sniper had lightened a second cigarette, his already growling voice becoming hoarse from the chill around him and the smoke in his lungs.  
  
Scout halted, his back already turned towards the Sniper.  
  
“Bullshit.”  
  
“And ya felt lonely and bored, burstin' with nobody to tell the big adventures of the little Scout.”  
No hostility lay in the mocking words, spot-on as they were, only slight amusement. Maybe that was the reason why the Scout didn't simply dash away when he heard the blatant truth, spoken without any sympathy at all.  
  
“Bullshit,” he repeated, straightened his back and held his head high when he turned around. “Because you’ll listen, won’t you?” He sat down again. For a moment he expected to be told to finally leave, but the Sniper contented himself with silently watching the young man rummaging through the rucksack.  
“Want another one?” He tossed a can at him when the Sniper nodded.  
  
“Nah, don’t get me wrong, kid. I never said I’ll listen. I'll just have this smoke, this beer, and after that, it’s the bed for me.” He raised the drink to his lips. Beer and smoke left the bitter taste he liked so much on his tongue. “For the next five minutes or so, other people's prattling is none of my business. So,why should I mind if anybody present wants to talk to the fire.”  
  
Scout smiled weakly. He didn't have a fight with the Sniper, but there lay an uncomfortable feeling of defeat in his grin. It didn't seem very dignifying to him to generously be allowed to talk for one reason – the Sniper didn’t care. He might as well return to his room and talk to himself.  
  
On the other hand – it was a nice night, now, that the air had freshened up a bit, with a fire still strong enough to keep his feet warm. And after all, a Sniper silently watching the flames while smoking his cigarette was a slightly better audience than nobody.  
Or one of those who never seem to grow tired of telling him to be quiet when he wanted to join them. It wasn't fair. If he talked to them like they did to him, he would probably be airblasted or teleported directly in front of the BLU’s respawn room by his own teammates.  
Not that he minded a challenge. If he survived such a situation, it would even add to the stories he wanted to discuss about after work. Like the others did with each other.  
For some reason or another, whatever he did or say, he was the only one they snapped at or ignored. Which was the better, he couldn’t decide.  
  
Well, being the youngest didn’t really help, this was one experience he had learned from growing up with too many older brothers for his taste. Okay, he was new, too. From what he understood, the newest member after him was the Pyro, and he had joined over a year ago.  
  
However, new or not, they hadn’t lost a battle because of him being a rookie. He didn’t slack off during the missions. So, he thought in a surprising moment of insight, it was probably only a matter of time. He only had to prove himself to the others as a worthy, reliable member.  Never give up, keep fighting, keep running, keep talking. Sooner or later, he would be accepted. At least he hoped so, wondering how this should happen if they didn’t finally give him a chance.  
  
“Ya should go to bed, kid.”  
  
Scout cringed. He had forgotten about the Sniper, his beer and the cigarette. The tin can cracked in protest when he clenched his fingers around it. Wonderful, so he had had the opportunity to speak his mind, and all he did was getting lost in his own thoughts and pitying himself, wasting the few moments of company.  
Annoying. But he was less frustrated than he thought he would be.  
Scout’s hand relaxed again. Instead, he found himself feeling oddly at ease after spending the passed moments in silence.  
  
The Sniper let the stub of his cigarette drop into the empty can and stood up.  
Scout took the offered hand and allowed the other man to pull him up. Without a word, he quickly picked up the empty cans.  
  
“G'night.” The Sniper didn’t pay the Scout any further attention, busy to put the cleaning tools for the rifle back into a small, flat case.  
  
“Night.” The Scout watched the other man while he emptied the rest of one beer over the fire, extinguishing for good the last gleaming embers.  
  
“Can I come again? Tomorrow?”  
  
“Hm. Don't know.” Sniper closed the tool box, picked it up with one hand, holding his weapon in the other. “What's in it for me?” he finally asked.  
  
“Well,” Scout frowned. The question felt wrong, like he had to buy the other man's company. Even less – only being allowed to be present without being chased away. But it was nice out here, after a long day of fighting and running.  
  
“More beer?” he offered, shaking his backpack.  
  
“Beer's good.” He put the tool box away, locked the door of the van. “G'night, Scout,” he repeated and gave the young man a friendly slap on the shoulder as he walked past him, back to the base.  
  
“Hey! Is that a 'yes'?” Scout shouted after the Sniper, hurrying to catch up with him.  
  
                                            ***  
  
“Ya know, right? Have ya seen it? Their freakin' Pyro stood behind me, and, dunno, pulled the wrong switch 'n instead of turnin' me into ashes he blasted me away! Boy, what an dumbass, and I landed on top of their Sentry, the Engineer glaring at me, throwin' that stupid wrench but man, I was faster and...”  
  
“Scout...”  
  
“...before he could hit me, I ran away, and when I thought, the dumb Sentry would kill me, it killed somebody else and...”  
  
“Scout!”  
  
The young man cringed at the sharp tone of the Sniper's voice. This was the fourth night he had searched their sharpshooter's company outside the base. True, the Sniper wasn't much of a talker, at least not with only the Scout around. But he also hadn't told him to shut up and get lost. In fact, the last evenings, Sniper had been the only one who didn't call the Scout's name in that tone. Not until now.  
  
“Hey, man, deal is deal!” He let himself fall onto the ground. With narrowed eyes and crossed arms and legs, he stared at the fire. Good, maybe acting out the happenings from today had been a bit too much, but still!  
  
“Ya've been chucking down half of my supplies tonight, so don't tell me to shut up.” He frowned at the flames when the Sniper chuckled.  
  
“Never told ya to shut up.”  
  
The fire hissed and died when a stream of beer was poured out over it. Scout raised his head, meeting the Sniper's amused gaze.  
  
“It's starting to rain.”  
  
“Oh...” The Scout let himself be pulled up. He looked up at the sky and raindrops splashed into his face. Not many yet, but that would change any moment. The stars were already hidden behind a thick, black curtain of clouds. The wind was becoming stronger and was too warm, the smell of the air had changed. In a few minutes, the comfortably warm and clear night had set the stage for one of summer's quick but harsh thunderstorms, and the show would begin any moment. Enraptured by his own performance, Scout had been completely unaware of his surroundings. Until the Sniper had made him snap out of it.  
  
“Oh,” he repeated, reaching for his backpack. More rain was falling. “Guess we better hurry back to the base.”  
“Don't be an idiot. Come!” The Sniper shoved his weapons into the van, slamming the side-door shut. Opening the door to the driver's seat, he pointed inside. “Get in there. No, not here, kid, the other side!”  
  
Blushing at being called a kid again, and at stupidly walking towards the Sniper, Scout rushed around the van and climbed on the passenger seat.  
  
“See, kid? We'd be soaked already. Give me another beer.”  
  
Scout took two more cans out of the backpack and handed one to the Sniper. The other man had been right; although they would have reached the base in less than ten minutes, they would have been soaked halfway. The rain was coming down heavily now.  
  
“Ya... ain't thinking of driving us back, are ya?” He hadn't counted, but was sure that they had shared more than seven beers between them tonight. The Sniper's hand didn't seem shaky, neither did he hear any slur in his speech. It was difficult to tell how much the alcohol had affected the man already, especially when he only spoke very few words to the Scout. It also seemed ridiculous to drive such a short distance.  
  
“Nope. We enjoy the show from here until its over, then we walk back. Shouldn't take too long. Look!” With the beer in his hand, he pointed at the windscreen and grinned. “Pretty, eh?”  
  
Scout followed the Sniper's glance. Rain was hurled against the glass by the same storm that mockingly gentle rocked the van. Their base was difficult to spot through the rain. In the distance, lightning tore the sky apart for the fraction of a second, long enough to illuminate the silhouette of the buildings. The functional complex with its straight lines and sharp angled corners looked as eerie as any old castle from a ghost story in this light.  
The storm unleashed its full force a few miles away; the thunder growled loudly, but was not close enough to feel like a threatening beast.  
  
“Wouldn't say 'pretty', but pretty cool, yeah.” Scout shrugged, still staring outside. They continued watching, the silence only disturbed by the echoes of the thunder and the raindrops drumming against the van.  
  
“The temperature will cool down for a while,” the Sniper said after a while. “Sitting outside late will be too cold.”  
  
“I see. Ya gonna join the others. Well,” Scout leaned back into the seat and stretched legs on the dashboard, his feet pressed against the windscreen, “guess ya'll finally enjoy chatting with them. As usual.” He gulped the rest of the beer down and fished for a new one. “This weather really makes me thirsty. HEY!”  
  
“Too much is not good for a kid like you,” the Sniper chuckled as he snatched the can out of the Scout's hand and raised it to his own lips.  
  
“Asshole.” He crossed his arms, but refrained from taking another drink. There was only one left anyway.  
  
“Scout.” The Sniper frowned, looking outside thoughtfully. “Do you know why the others don't like you?”  
  
“Geez! It's not that they don't like me, man!” The question had come unexpected, and the Scout sighed. “No, ya right, they don't like me. And no, I have no idea.” He bent forward, waving with his hands in front of him, starting to count on his fingers. “Guess it's me being _the_ kid of the team, not knowing the tropes, the rookie, the easiest to pick on and new and all that stuff. I fight good and...”  
  
“Your fighting sucks.”  
  
“Eh?” He turned his head towards the Sniper, his mouth still half open and the eyes wide, his hands hovering mid-air motionless at the sudden interruption. “Come on! My fighting doesn't suck! I'm good! I'm quick 'n all, haven't seen you or any other guy gettin'  the freakin' briefcase half us much as I do! Fuck, man, ya others haven't taken that thing at all lately, cause of me!”  
  
“Calm down, kid, calm down.” The Sniper fought down another chuckle. He agreed with the others that the Scout's bragging was annoying, and it was time that the kid understood why. But once he got used to listening to him for the past few nights, he had began to find him amusing. Scout had been right – he was entertaining, but probably not the way the kid thought he was. It was too easy to provoke him, to goad him into one of his defensive speeches, one or two words were enough. Sniper he could say a lot against the overconfident young man – but Scout was passionate about the things he thought were right, how wrong or absurd they might have been. It was funny to watch.  
  
“Ain't sayin' ya not doing good at all. Yer good at running, very good. Ya seem to be quick-witted and do a good job at capturing, yeah. But yer fighting sucks.”  
  
“But...”  
  
“Nah, shut up and hear what I have to say, kid!” the Sniper cut him short. He was surprised that the Scout actually pressed his lips together and – although with a frown – listened.  
  
“Look at what happened today. You've been lucky when the Pyro blasted you into the line of fire of BLU's sentry. You could easily have taken out the Engineer, maybe even the fuckin' sentry that killed our Demo and Pyro a moment later when ya dashed off like a crazy rabbit.”  
  
“But... sorry, sorry, I'm quiet,” Scout stopped himself, shuddering under the Sniper's disapproving glare.  
  
“Good. Ya died a bit later, when Pyro or Demo could have had yer back. You're not dumb, but you're ain't thinkin'!” With his finger, he poked against the Scout's wrinkled forehead.  
  
“That, and you're dying too often. When nobody shields ya, ya ain't surviving. Sure, I've seen ya doin' some nice smashes with that bat of yours. But when a gun's looking at yer face, you're dead meat.” He nodded, agreeing with his own words.  
“See, often our Medic has to take care of you when others need him. You're blocking the dispenser or wasting time in the respawn room when ya could be at the front, helping out the others. Yer suck at defending yarself because yer fighting sucks.” The Sniper sighed before he continued.  
  
“That alone is bad and your fault. What isn't your fault is that the Scout before you was different. To be honest, I think you're faster than him, good job on that. You're welcome,” he answered the low “thanks” coming from the seat next to him.  
  
“But he was a good fighter. Sure, his kill-rate wasn't the highest, and that wasn't his job anyway. But he knew how to use a gun and to save his own ass, and those of us others once in a while. He was a lively guy, too, but didn't brag much.  You can say he was quite popular and we regretted to see him leave.  
You, on the other hand well...” He shrugged, searching for a good wrap-up of his explanation.  
  
“You are fast, but your kill-rate is bad, your death-rate is horrible, and you are unreliable as a team-mate. When it's about building a defense or attack, ya might as well not be on the battlefield. Instead, we too often have to look after your ass so you could at least do what you are good at – running.”  
  
Scout didn't answer and the Sniper didn't have anything else to say. Outside, the storm was dying away. The wind had already lost its strength and the thunder had stopped. Rain was still pouring down on them and wouldn't stop any time soon.  
  
“I see. I better get used to be disliked then.” The stubborn expression had disappeared from the Scout's features. He was calm, his voice indifferent, but the Sniper wasn't fooled. He meant it when he said the Scout wasn't dumb. He was sure that the young man had already figured out most of what the Sniper had told him now by himself already, or at least vaguely guessed it. Still, it was a different matter to have the truth brutally said into the face. Having the Scout staring outside like this, watching the raindrops running down the window with seemingly eager interest, not saying a word – his words had hit a nerve, and that nerve was hurting.  
  
“Wouldn't say that. You're young. Don't see why ya shouldn't improve. Just tune it down a bit, that should do.”  
  
“Maybe.” This didn't sound very convinced. “Let's go, old man. Doubt the rain will stop tonight, might as well go back before it gets worse again.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter No. 2, enjoy!

**Where dignity and pride fought for their place**

**\- Part 2 -**

“Kid, there ain’t no campfire tonight,” Sniper greeted his silent visitor.

He didn’t need to take a look over his shoulder to convince himself that Scout was standing behind him and watched his back; the Scout’s footsteps could hardly be mistaken. Light, yet firm, speaking of the stubbornness and determination that was usually also written all over his young face.

“I’m gonna spend the evening inside. With the others. As soon as I’m done here.” He closed the passenger door, turned the key and pushed down the handle to make sure it was really looked.

“Which would be now.” He turned around, crossing his arms. Yes, he had been right. The sadness from the other night had disappeared from the Scout’s features. The lips pressed together to a thin line and holding his chin high, Scout glared at the Sniper.

“Ya not telling me to piss off.” A simple statement. Or so it would have been, but the Sniper saw a short twitching of the corners of the younger man’s mouth.

“Hoped ya have enough common sense to get the message.”

_‘Besides, yar not half as confident as ya acting, kid,’_ he added in his mind and checked his watch. The day had been tedious. The sun had burnt mercilessly on them and the battlefield didn’t offer many shady corners that were also safe from the enemy team’s eyes.

After the thunderstorm, the night was cooler than the last ones, as he had predicted, but that was not the only reason why he was looking forward to a few hours of drinking and loud comradeship. They had ended today’s battle with an unsatisfying stalemate and the speech they had received through one of the administrator’s executive employers had been uncomfortable for all of them. If somebody asked him, a bit of friendly fun was well deserved.

Fun, in which the Scout probably wouldn’t join. This wasn’t his business and the Sniper didn’t intend to make it his, but he was also glad not to be in his younger team-mate’s shoes.

_‘So I pity ya enough to stay here a little while longer and listen.’_ This would explain why he caught the beer that was tossed at him and opened it, leaning against the wall of his van, instead of throwing the can back where it came from. He decided to keep the thought to himself, as well as the fact that the Scout’s tough act – especially after last night’s conversation – tickled his curiosity.

“’kay, I’m gonna hear ya out. Make it quick.”

This time forsaking to have a drink for himself, the Scout crossed his arms and nodded.

“Listen man. Good for you being an old fart, playing with guns ‘n shit for 50 years or so. But guess what, not everyone is a dinosaur, ya got it? Or got years of practice shooting ‘n stuff. Imagine, some people focus on other shit as well, I mean, ya see it, right? You and all the other awesome, so great gunmen here - well, all of you are slow. As. Fuck!”

“Kid, don’t forget to breathe!” The Sniper chuckled, fighting to control himself. The Scout’s serious face was growing redder the more the words were streaming out of him, and for a second, the Sniper would not have been surprised if he ran out of air completely.

“And stop chasing gnats with yer hands and come to the point.” He stopped trying and showed his grin openly. The way Scout was waving and flailing his hands while speaking was funny.

“Ya drink, and I speak!” But despite the demanding tone, the Scout crossed his arms again and inhaled deeply, releasing the air slowly, before he continued.

“Alright. See, I’m fast, and I’m great at sports that include running, have ever been. I also was a good fighter, at home, well…” He shrugged, his eyes searching the sky for anything interesting he could focus on. “At least with my fists and bat. Brawling and such. Was never involved in any shooting really.” He lowered his head again, facing the Sniper. The anger was gone, instead, a wrily smile appeared.

“I see.” The Sniper nodded, still grinning.

Scout sure had a face like an open book, and right now, an apology was written all over it. But Sniper would bet his rifle on it – Scout would rather bite off his tongue than saying anything like “sorry” aloud.

However, he began to understand the problem, which was not only a problem of the Scout, but of the whole team. The battles were affected as well as the harmony in the team, when one of them was an outcast, whatever might be the reasons.

He sighed. God knows why, but the Scout had decided to talk to him of all people, and the Sniper realized that, at a much faster rate than he liked, the kid’s trouble were becoming his problem, if he wanted or not. Well, either way, Scout’s explanation made sense, but left also some questions open.

“Well, didn’t ya get some training, too? Everyone did after all. To learn about the job, the whole technical bullshit, and also testing and improving our skills with the weapons. Did ya skip?”

“Hell no, I didn’t!” Scout snorted, raising his hands in defense, but lowered them again right away and stared at the cold campfire to his feet. “Okay, it’s not like I’ve always been a role model, I know. But man, I could really use the excitement and, well, the money even more.”

“Can’t blame ya for that,” the Sniper threw in and took another gulp from his beer, hiding a smile at Scout’s guilty expression.

“Good. No, I mean, well, got to the training, doing just fine. But didn’t have much time. They even said it was a bit too soon, should have had a month or so more, ‘cause of well, ya know, that stupid weakness.” He winced under his own words, the frown from earlier returning to his face.

“But then your other Scout here had to be replaced. From what I understood, the others were even less ready or so, and the needed someone from one day to the other, so – here I am!”

He had followed the Sniper’s example and, without interrupting his speech, sat down. With the last words, he spread his arms, waiting for his team-mate to say something.

“Here you are,” Sniper finally commented, looking at the Scout thoughtfully. The others had probably already started their get-together, the first of them sure to be half-drunk. The temperature had dropped since the sun had set. It wasn’t cold, after all, it was still summer. Yet he felt a chill on his skin and rolled down the long sleeves of his shirt. He looked at the bare arms of the Scout. Maybe he should light a fire.

“Coach me.”

“WHAT?!” He forgot about the fire in an instant, staring at the Scout, who began to laugh.

“Man, ya should see ya dumb face. What’s so difficult to get about it? Coach me, I said. You’re good at that shit, I’m not. Give me a few pointers. Shouldn’t be a big deal, right? Unless,” he added slyly, “telling somebody else a bit about how to handle a gun isn’t the right stuff for you to talk about.”

“Don’t ya even try to trick me into this, kid!” The Sniper gave a snort. “Forget about it. Got better things to do to teach some rookie the basics.”

“Come on, man! What was all that blabbering about team-work, eh? If ya help me, ya helping the team, right? Don’t think I enjoy asking ya, okay? So stop being an asshole about it and help me!”

“Dammit, kid.” Slowly, Sniper shook his head. Rubbing his neck, he tried to find a way out of this situation. Also he had to admit it - Scout got a point. Teaching a beginner about shooting would be a hassle, true. In the long run, however, improving the Scout’s skills would improve the whole team’s efficiency. But why should _he_ be the one who had to deal with it?

“Listen,” he began, taking his time to find the right words that would hopefully change the Scout’s mind without putting him off too rudely. After all, he had to acknowledged that he came and asked for help. He knew him well enough to know that this was as difficult for the young, usually so boastful man as to honestly admit his faults.

“See, kid,” the Sniper began to explain, avoiding the Scout’s eyes. Otherwise he would probably have chuckled again – the eager, yet impatient face reminded him of a puppy sitting in front of his food, waiting for the permission to finally gobble it down. Giving the Scout the feeling he was laughed at wouldn’t help the situation at all.

“I understand ya, I really do, and to be honest – good for ya for wanting to improve. Really. But sorry, but I… nah, don’t give me that look, hear me out,” he hurried to add. A smile had lit the young face for a second and disappeared as quickly as it had come. Sniper got the feeling he could actually hear how the Scout’s heart sinking.

“Your idea isn’t so bad. But ya got the wrong man. Shooting small guns is not the same as using a rifle. Ya should ask somebody who uses a similar weapon. Maybe Soldier, he uses a shotgun. Or Spy… he has a good collection of pistols and should be able to teach you a few things.”

“Oh no, no, no! Forget it! I certainly ain’t goin’ to one of them!”

“Want me to talk to them?” Sniper offered. This would be the better idea anyway, he had a rough idea how especially the Spy would brush the Scout off before the kid could even finish the first sentence. If he approached Spy the same way he approached him – which Scout certainly would do – all he’d receive a snobbish answer in return and a good sight at the Spy’s back when he simply walked away. For the Sniper, though, it shouldn’t be difficult to explain the whole problem and make them understand.

“No! You, or no one!”

“Come on, kid, this is silly. The others - “

“Stop calling me a kid!” Scout had changed to his usual self – obstinate and arrogant. Glaring at the Sniper, he stood up.

“Then don’t behave like one!” Sniper retorted, already regretting the remark before he had finished the sentence. Arguing wouldn’t help, and he didn’t have to be overly empathic to guess how the Scout would react to his choice of words.

His guess was right – the Scout opened his mouth to lash back at him, but closed it again. Growling to himself, he turned around on the spot. Calmly, the Sniper watched him walk away, the steps sure, but a bit slow, the back kept so straight that he wondered if it hurt. Again, he smiled. So the Scout tried his best to be as determined and proud as usual. The act would have worked, but the Sniper didn’t miss the hanging shoulders.

“Yo! Scout!” he heard himself calling, “Don’t forget to bring beer!”

Scout neither stopped nor said anything. However, Sniper noticed that the back relaxed a bit, and the shoulders didn’t seem to be too heavy anymore.

_‘Got myself into a bloody fine mess.’_ He checked his watch. Almost midnight. The others should be drunk or asleep – or both – now. Even if he joined them, he wouldn’t be able to catch up. He sighed, and laughed about himself. Somehow, he expected himself to have even more reasons to sigh in the future, starting with tomorrow, a Friday.

He grabbed his rifle and started his way back to the base as well. Maybe the Engineer or Demoman were still awake and sober enough to listen when he canceled their weekly poker night for the next two or three weeks.

***

“Ya really ain’t even knowing the basics. Dammit. Again!”

Scout looked at the pistol he was holding, then at the array of empty beer cans and bottles the Sniper had arranged on piles of old tires, barrels and bales of straw. All targets stood neatly in a row, one next to the other, and that was the problem. The bullet hadn’t even come close to one of them, let a lone hit. That it wasn’t the first shot didn’t make it any better, and he swore to himself, if Sniper said one more time “again” he’d smash his skull – street-style with his bat.

“Fuckin’ basics.” Grumbling to himself, he raised the gun.

_‘Come on, this can’t be that hard,’_ he scolded himself. His eyes narrowed to slits, he aimed at one of the targets.

“Dammit…!” he cursed and jumped a step back when a hand firmly took hold of his, and backed right into the Sniper behind him.

“Yer holding it too close to your body. It’s a wonder yer haven’t knocked yerself out yet. Here - “ He pulled at the Scout’s wrist, making him stretch out his arm. “Away from the body. Now bend your arm – no, not that much, just a bit. Better. Hold it steady.”

“Easier said than done,” Scout growled back, embarrassed when he saw how his hand trembled.

“It’s pretty easy if yer use an arm instead of a jellyfish. Tense your wrist! Hold it firmly.”

Scout didn’t need the Sniper’s advice. When the rough hand closed firmly around his wrist his whole body tensed. He didn’t like having somebody standing so close. What a nerve, to touch him like that! But he had asked for help, so he couldn’t just tell him to fuck off.

“Breathing helps, kid. And relax. How do ya intent to run and shoot when yer stiff as a stick?”

“Can ya decide whaddya want? YOU told me to tense up!” Scout scoffed at the Sniper, irritated when the man chuckled next to his ear for the second time.

“Yer wrist, kid. Alright, keep the arm stretched, a bit more like this, good. Keep it steady and tensed here -” He put his hand below the Scout’s upper arm and lifted at a bit. “And here. Straighten your back!” The hand moved to the Scout’s right shoulder blade, pushing gently against it.

Scout kept staring forward and focused on the cans in the distance, trying to ignore the warmth he felt through his shirt. He fought to suppress a shudder when Sniper laid his other hand on the Scout’s hip.

“Keep this align with yer shoulders, but damn, kid, relax. If yer ain’t flexible with yer hips and knees, even the recoil of a small gun like this will throw ya off yer feet!”

“Hey!” Scout suddenly laughed, and squirmed. “Don’t pinch me, asshole!”

“Alright, alright, kid. Couldn’t know yer ticklish.” The Sniper grinned and took a step backwards, raising his arms in defense when the Scout scowled at him. Then he pointed towards the targets.

“Focus again. Good. See? Yer tensing yer arm and wrist just fine now, and here-” again, he put his hand on the Scout’s waist, “here yer more relaxed, good. Now, stop twitching like a nervous bunny… and _fire_!”

By the command, Scout pulled the trigger, forgetting for a second to whom the hand on his hip and the voice right behind him belonged. With a sigh, he released his breath, lowering his arm. The bullet was a lot closer to the can he had armed at, but had missed it by an inch.

“Don’t give up, this was a lot better!” Sniper bent forward, took again hold of the Scout’s wrist and lifted his arm. “Again!”

“I swear to God…” Scout began, but didn’t finish his threat. Instead, he tried to regain the same posture from before, tensing first his arm muscles, then his shoulder, careful to remain flexible with his hip. The Sniper’s hand still rested there, and he didn’t want to give this idiot a reason to pinch him again.

“Hm. Wait a second, maybe…” Sniper let go of the Scout’s waist and wrapped his hand around his left upper arm. “Yer arms are pretty skinny.”

“Eh, shut up, ya fuckin’ asshole and let me shoot before I choose a different target!” Scout snapped and turned his head to glare at the Sniper, but looked ahead again right away. He hadn’t realized how close the other man was standing behind him.

“Yeah, but let’s try something. Make a loose fist, right under the end of the grip.” Like with Scout’s right arm, he gently pushed it upwards, and shoved the hand towards the pistol. “Keep yer left steady, too, and let the gun rest on it. Okay, listen, kid.” His voice became lower and he spoke directly in the Scout’s ear.

“This is a battlefield. It’s up to you, but you cannot fail. There’s the enemy, he doesn’t see you. If he is gone, the fight is won. You can be the hero. Failure or victory, it’s in your hands, like your gun. Whatever happens now, keep your arms straight. No matter if you are shot, or burnt or if yer lower body is being twisted and torn apart – your arms and hands are in control now, and the guns is a part of them. They know what to do. _FIRE!_ ”

Scout shuddered. The breath of the Sniper tickled him, and two broad hands resting on his waist burnt his skin through his shirt. His legs twitched, wanting to run, but his hands and eyes had a life of their own.

This time, the bullet hit.

The empty can he had been aiming at was knocked off its stand and spun helplessly through the air before it fell into the sand with a tired clunk.

For a few seconds, the baffled Scout, the gun in his hands still raised, stared at the empty space where the target had been. The first disbelief changed to amazement. When he turned around, he grinned in sheer pride.

“Don’t get cocky, kid,” the other man cut in when Scout opened his mouth.

“Come on, it was a first class shot!” No way he would let the Sniper dampen his moment of triumph!

“Yeah, after a dozen third class shots, at an inanimate object, while standing still.”

“Way to spoil the fun, asshole.” Grumbling at the Sniper’s dry remark, he sprinted towards the can and picked it up from the dirt. He blew the sand from the surface and looked at it.

The bullet had gone straight through, leaving a clean hole. Of course the Sniper was right, and it wasn’t like it had been the first time he had hit something. Only this time, he had really known what he was doing, there hadn’t been just luck involved. True, knocking off a stupid, empty beer can wouldn’t mean anything tomorrow, when the next battle started. It just had felt nice.

“Okay, seems like ya finally got the basics.”

Suddenly, the Sniper stood next to him and took the can from his hand.

“Uh, what? Eh, I mean, of course I did, what did you expect? I’m not retarded. It’s not that difficult anyway. Duh!”

The Sniper tried to suppress the urge to laugh – just like the Scout, to overplay he was startled for a second like that. However, the chuckle which quickly turned into a snort, irritated Scout.

“WHAT?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Sniper warded off. There was no need to argue.

“So ya know how to hit a target now. Anyway, having ya move around as fast as ya can mustn’t throw off yer aim. So let’s at least start with moving objects today. GO!”

The Sniper tossed the can high up into the air. Jolting a step back at the last, shouted word, Scout yanked up the gun and pulled the trigger.

Two pairs of eyes followed the can as it fell into the dirt, safe from any damage by a bullet.

“No fretting. Again!” ” Sniper patted his disappointed student’s shoulder, grabbed an empty bottle, and repeated the game.

Scout fired and the bottle shattered – when it hit the hard ground.

“That’s gonna be a long night.” The Sniper sighed, reaching for another bottle.

“Don’t lose heart. Again!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding takes time.

 

 

**Where dignity and pride fought for their place**

**\- Part 3 -**

 

The scent of perfectly cooked roast filled the room, but it would need more than tender meat under a dark crust to prevent the men from laughing and chatting merrily. After another long day on the battlefield, cold beer and heated, but friendly arguments were the most welcome side dishes, and certainly enjoyed with as much relish as the main course.

“And the boy wasn’t half-bad either. Keep it up!”

Scout was focusing on the food on his plate. Lately, he had kept to himself during dinner and preferred to be silent instead of trying to join a conversations.

 

Now, when the Soldier’s broad, flat hand almost broke his spine in his honest approval, the Scout beamed at the unexpected praise. He hastened to swallow the last bit of meat without choking and turned towards the Soldier, a – as he hoped – witty reply ready to be launched.

But the veteran was already too involved in another discussion about the Engineer’s idea about a better spot for the sentry – Soldier was against it.

Scout tried to make up his mind – should he simply butt in or finish his meal already. The desire to talk was as unbroken as it was on his first day at the base. He had found a good listener in the Sniper during the last weeks, so he didn’t mind anymore that the others rarely paid much attention to him.

But even he couldn’t ignore that he was pushing his luck. After all, the best he could establish so far was a kind of teacher and student-relationship, which was, according to his experiences with teachers, was not even close to anything like being friends.

Lately, however, it had become difficult to convince the Sniper – and himself – that he needed a teacher.

 

“Hey, lad! Snap out of it, yer mom called!” Demo left the door open behind him as he entered the dinning room and gave the Scout a playful push.

“Don’t let her wait, it’s rare enough yer having a visit or call from a lassie, be a gentleman before even she’s runnin’ away so fast even you ain’t ever catching her.” The others joined the Scotsman’s laughter at the teasing words. Scout frowned and stood up. His chair would have fallen over when he pushed it back if the Medic hadn’t caught it in time.

“Don’t get all serious, boy.” The Engineer raised his mug in the Scout’s direction. “Ya know he’s joking. Ain’t no harm done. And Soldier’s right, tell the good lady yer did a fine job.”

 

Scout relaxed, seeing the olive branch the Engineer was offering him, and nodded. He was certain that the Texan wasn’t as much worried about the feelings of their youngest team member as he was about the light-hearted atmosphere this evening.

The others rarely took offense when mocked and if Scout did, he would be considered to be the one at fault.

Well, he didn’t feel like arguing anyway and after all, Demo was right – he shouldn’t let his mother wait. However, he thought grimly, the next time the Demoman’s mother called he would get even.

As he rushed down the corridor, he wondered if he should accept the call from the telephone in his room, but decided against it. The telephone outside the common room was a lot closer than their personal quarters.

First, he would find out what his mother wanted. If it was important or private, he could still ask her to call his phone directly.

“Mom?” He picked up the receiver that was waiting for him on the small table with the telephone books.

“Nah, ya didn’t disturb me, just have finished dinner… yeah, I’m eating enough. Yeeees, jeez. Mom, I’m old enough to not starve myself in front of a steak, okay?”

He rolled his eyes and leaned with his back against the wall, waiting for his mother to finish her lecture about the importance of good meals for a boy his age. He would have bet his legs that he would have to listen to the same sermon when he was 60.

“Anything the matter? Is everyone alright? Good. Hey, guess what, it was a really good day!”

Everyone else was still at the dinner table, so nobody would hear his boasting. And hey, if even that old grumpy bulldog of a Soldier praised him – what other legitimization did he need to brag a bit to his mother.

He grinned as he told her about the last days and how he was recognized as a fast runner by the team and had a good time with them in the evenings. That the others were warming up to him very slowly and just lately was a detail he preferred to leave unmentioned.

“Yeah, sure I have caught up with the stuff I missed when they took me out of training early,” he dutifully answered her questions.

“Nah, no problem, got some help from the Sniper here. What…? Yes, it’s the same guy I was drinking with last time ya called, sorry for calling back so late that week.

What? No, mom, no! I am NOT spending my whole time with that old bastard.” He blushed, hoping his mother wouldn’t see through his lie. No way he’d admit to her that he still had troubles being accepted by the others. As she spoke on, his smile disappeared.

“Mom, listen! NO! Of course I’m not… I’m here to work, okay? What the fuck do you think of me?

Sorry, yes, sorry for yelling. But don’t take me for a stupid idiot, I’m working here goddammit, I’m not gonna risk my fucking job!

Sorry, but… Yeah, I promise. MOM! DON’T call it a condition, I am NOT SICK! What… okay, okay, mom, mom? I’m sorry, I know you mean well, sorry.”

 

He lowered his voice, hoping that nobody had heard him shout.

Suddenly, he found it difficult to imagine that he had been kind of happy, only a few moments ago. Now, he only was tired. For the next minute or two, he listened to the worried, but gentle voice of his mother without interrupting her. Her words and the change of the topic eased his mind.

“Thanks. I’ll be home for Thanksgiving, I promise. Tell the others I said ‘hi’, okay? Guess I better go back to the others, it’s getting late.” Quickly, he glanced around, making sure he really was alone and out of earshot.

“Love ya, too, mom,” he replied and put the receiver down.

_'Nothing happened, everyone is fine and healthy,'_ he tried to cheer himself up. ' _Nothing to be worked up about.'_

He put his hands behind his head and stretched, letting out a frustrated growl.

Always the same worries and the same argument.

So freaking pointless.

Tensing up from his legs, over his spine and up to his arms, even hands felt good. The memory of the Sniper sprung up, how he had been standing behind him, touching his arms and back to see if he used the right muscles. The memory of his hands and and voice, both firm and warm and encouraging.

“Pointless bullshit.” His arms dropped and he shook out his legs and shoulders, trying to relax, ignoring the knot in his guts that stubbornly refused to go away.

“Isn’t there a law that forbids mothers to worry when there’s nothing to worry about? Fuck you all, I’m getting drunk.” Cursing to the walls, he walked back to the dining room. Taking a deep breath, he put a smile on his face and opened the door.

 

Judging from the noise and the increased number of empty and half-empty beer bottles on the table, the others had made good use of the passed time.

He grabbed on neglected, untouched bottle when passing the Soldier who was still passionately arguing with the Engineer about the new position of the sentry – Soldier fully supported it.

Paying no heed to the others or trying to join their talk, Scout returned to his place and sat down. The plate with the remains of his dinner still stood unchanged where he left it.

The last bits of meat and vegetable were now cold and as he looked at them, thinking about his mothers warnings and the knot in his guts, he didn’t feel hungry anymore.

Considering dinner finished for today, he shoved the plate away and took a long gulp from the beer, unaware he was being watched.

 

The Sniper had noticed the change of the Scout’s mood. It had to do with the call, he knew that much, but doubted it would be a good idea to ask him now about it. It sure was a pity, today’s battle had really gone well, and the improvements couldn’t be ignored or explained with luck anymore.

The training was paying out, much to his satisfaction. After all, they had spent a good many of evenings over summer, and a great deal of ammunition.

Their employer was generous with whatever they needed for their weapons, but the supply wasn’t unlimited. He feared that sooner or later, questions would be asked and consequences drawn, in a worst case scenario, for all of them.

It was for the better to put a stop on their evening lessons, they weren’t really necessary anyway. The kid had learned a lot and shown that he could use his new knowledge during the battles well. The rest? Practice and experience, and he didn’t need a teacher for that, just a bit of time.

He remembered his reluctance when the Scout had asked him – or more or less pushed him – to help him with his shooting skills. Now he had to admit to himself that it hadn’t been as much of a bother as he had expected. To be honest, it had been fun, and he found it difficult to keep up the old dislike.

_‘You are a good kid, you can be proud of yourself.’_

 

Sniper decided he should tell him that later, to cheer him up a bit, and also tell him that the lessons were over.

Hopefully, nothing too serious was up with him, he wondered as he watched how Scout reached for the next bottle.

Too bad that he still had a difficult stand with the rest of the team. The circumstances hadn’t been good from the beginning and it was difficult for the Scout to have a fresh start with the others. They weren’t a bad bunch, not at all. But unlike him, they didn’t have the patience to slowly get to know the kid, let alone to patiently teach him to be a better member.

Sniper smirked. The last weeks, he had trained and tamed a puppy who happened to be born as a jittery whirlwind and with a far too big mouth. He wouldn’t go so far and call the Scout refined or completely mature now, but the kid didn’t need to be.

If he could only start anew, with all his team members forgetting about his stupid, bratty behavior, everything would work out just fine. None of them was without quirks. Being a bit of an untwisted, yappy dog was nothing wrong in his books.

 

“Yo, pardner, what about you?” The Engineer gave him a nudge, putting an abrupt end to his thoughts.

“Have been a while since ya have joined us. If ya ain’t planing to go outside tonight, how about a game of poker? Demo, Heavy and Pyro are in.”

The idea sounded good, and it had really been a while, all summer actually. Thanks to a certain Scout he had missed all of their regular poker evenings.

Well, with the lessons being over, why not?

He glanced at the younger man. Seeing him not even trying to join anyone of them was a sad sight. Maybe he should ask him to join, it would be a good opportunity for him and the other men to get to know each other better.

“Maybe next time, thanks mate,” he heard himself say before he had finished debating with himself. “The nights will get shorter soon anyway. Guess I’m gonna enjoy them as long as it’s still nice and warm.”

“Alrighty then. Come, guys. Soldier, are ya joining or are ya gonna debate about that sentry until you feel like a sentry yourself?”

Smiling, Sniper left the table before either of the two American somehow drew him into their rekindled argument.

 

The Scout had disappeared.

Distracted by the Engineer, he hadn’t noticed him leaving. He didn’t have to wonder for long where the kid had gone. Once the Sniper had left the room, he saw him standing in the corridor, looking indecisive where to go next.

 

“Going outside? Mind me hanging around?” Scout asked and walked next to the Sniper when he nodded. In silence, they reached the intersection between the way outside and their private quarters.

The Sniper stopped, and the Scout followed suit, passing him a questioning look.

“Are ya feeling alright?”

“Yeah, of course,” Scout answered, wondering where that was coming from.

“Why?”

The Sniper smiled guiltily.

“Well, had to make a quick trip to the dunny while ya were on the phone. Nah, I didn’t spy on ya, ya know, that’s not _my_ job,” he joked.

“Ya were so lost in yer talk with yer mom ya hadn’t noticed me, and I hurried on. But I caught something with sick and condition. Something wrong with yer health?”

Alarmed, Scout eyed him suspiciously and tried to recall everything he had said and what a bystander might make of it. The Sniper seemed to be genuinely worried. If he really only caught those two words and nothing else, it probably really wasn’t a loaded question.

“I’m fine,” he answered, observing the Sniper’s face closely, but he couldn’t find any sign of distrust or rejection.

“Ya know, had just recovered from a freaking flu before I joined the company. Now she seems to think I’m about to kick the bucket whenever I sneeze. Pisses me of to no end, being treated like a five years old. Mothers!” Relieved, he grinned when the Sniper began to laugh.

“Ya better believe me, I know what yer talking about!” Still chuckling, he put his arm around the Scout’s shoulder. The younger man winced; the knot in his stomach tightened.

“Mine is the same. I tell ya, better get used to it, ya haven’t heard the last of it for the next, let’s say… oh, I don’t know, for the rest of your life.”

“Yeah, thought as much.” He felt the warmth from the Sniper’s arm and body, like he had done that one day, when he was taught how to hold his gun. With a wryly smile, he withstand the impulse to lean into the friendly touch.

“Well, gonna run to my pad and get some beer.” Ready to jump towards their rooms any moment, he turned away from the Sniper.

“Gonna catch you outside?”

“Sure, didn’t plan to take a hike. I’ll be at my van. Better bring a jacket, it’s gettin’ colder at night and yer already shivering. Don’t want yer mom after me if ya catch a chill. See ya in a minute!” With a smirk, the Sniper tipped his hat and followed the way to the door leading outside, around the corner, leaving Scout alone in the corridor.

“Yeah.” His face felt far from cold while he still stared at the now empty spot where the Sniper had been a few seconds before.

 

“No, I’m not a stupid idiot, and I ain’t gonna do stupid, idiotic things. It’s just about work, mom, nothing else. We aren’t even friends. Jeez.” The sound of a door falling shut pulled him out of his daze.

Cursing himself and that god-forsaken phone call, he dashed to his room.

 

 

* * *

“It’s your fault we are late for dinner!”

“Yeah, whatever. Never mind.”

 

Sure, if Scout hadn’t thought it would be a good idea to take a short cut over the same ledge where the Sniper was hiding, he wouldn’t have crushed into him when BLU’s Soldier was just about to kill Sniper – if not both of them – with one of his damned rockets.

Sure, instead of simply being sent into the respawn-room, they had tumbled all the way down the nearby slope and gotten bruised and dirty.

And yeah, sure, it was a bit of bad timing that that very moment the battle had been announced to be over and everybody had been running back to the base, while they had to climb the smooth wall of the rock all the way up to even return to the battleground.

So yes, the Sniper might have a point when he blamed him that they where greeted by their laughing team-mates who just left the showers, smelling of soap and overall cleanliness, while the two of them were covered in dust, blood and sweat.

Quite frankly, Scout didn’t give a fuck about the complaints coming from the the shower cabin next to his. With closed eyes, he stood under the shower head and let the hot stream rain on his body.

The crash, the fall and the followed climbing exercise had left a good number of cuts and bruises on his arms and legs, causing a prickling pain as the hot water washed over them.

But the same hot water also soothed his hurting limbs and back. Hidden in a cloud of steam, he felt how the aching muscles began to relax.

It had been a good day. Well, maybe ‘good’ wasn’t the right word yet, but he knew he was improving, and the others were aware of that, too. At least this was his explanation why, after his snotty remark about Heavy’s size, the punch in his guts was more play- than painful this time.

He wouldn’t say that he was fully accepted by now, but the resentment was gone.

 

“And also… Hey! Kid! Are ya even listening to me?”

“Nah… not really…”

“That bloody brat’s tiny ass really deserves a good whupping!” the Sniper grumbled to himself, but still loud enough for the Scout to hear.

“Okay, as long as I don’t have to turn off the water, ya can whup my tiny ass any day. Wait! I didn’t mean - “ For an awkward second the Scout feared he had done something foolish, by saying something as a joke that might not be taken as a joke and give him away.

The laughter from the other side of the thin, wooden wall turned into a snort and the Sniper coughed, still chuckling, as if he had swallowed a good gulp of water.

 

_‘Guess I’m lucky it takes one to know one.’_ Scout closed his eyes again, threw back his head and let the hot water run over his face until he couldn’t tell anymore if his cheeks burned from the heat or from the relief when Sniper had taken his answer as a silly joke.

The faucet in the other cabin was closed and Scout listened to the splashing sounds the Sniper’s bare feet made on the wet tiles. He couldn’t make up the mind if he wanted to follow him or if it was wiser to wait until the other man had left.

“Are ya coming or are ya waiting for the cooks to change the menu to steamed spring chicken?” Sniper chuckled, rapping against the Scout’s door.

“Haha, very funny!” Scout hurried to shut off the water and leave the shower.

“Bloody funny,” Sniper agreed.

With a disgruntled snort in response, Scout ripped his towel from a hook on the wall and wrapped it around his hips, noticing with a glance that the Sniper was still busy drying his hair. Suddenly fearing his face would never cool down, he quickly looked away from the bare body standing next to him, before his gaze reached the Sniper’s waistline.

 

“But guess I was wrong with the chicken. Ya look more like a cooked lobster. Or rather - a shrimp,” Sniper added slyly and pinched the Scout’s cheek.

“You…!” Scout lunged out, but the force of the playful blow pulled him forward when the Sniper avoided the punch. On the slippery floor, he tripped.

“Careful, kid!” Sniper caught him by the arm before his knees hit the hard tiles.

The Sniper was, aside from the towel around his neck, still naked. The remains of the water were already cooling down, yet Scout could feel the warmth from the skin from the man’s body and from the hand that still held him by his arm.

“Nothing hurt? Good.” He dragged him back onto his feet when the Scout nodded in response.

“And now hurry, I’m starving.” Cheerfully, the Sniper ruffled through the Scout’s short, dark blond hair, picked his towel up from his shoulders and continued drying his body.

“Yeah. Me, too,” Scout muttered to himself without moving a muscle, and stared at the Sniper’s back. He opened his mouth, and closed it again, suddenly hearing the voice of his mother in his head.

_‘Please, don’t do anything stupid or foolish, I beg you’ – ‘Don’t take me for a stupid idiot, mom!’_

 

“Yo, Sniper, are ya gonna be outside tonight? Whaddy sayin’ ‘bout some beer to celebrate the day?” He rushed by the Sniper’s side, slapping him casually on the shoulder as they headed across the shower room towards the door.

“Nah. It’s gettin’ colder at night. I’m gonna stay with the other blokes, it’s poker night. Hey, why don’t ya join us?”

“Yeah, why not,” Scout replied before really thinking about it. The few times he had been asked to join the others in their games didn’t – well, didn’t go too well. After a rather ugly uproar between him and the Spy, the rest of the team had refrained from asking the Scout to join them again whenever they had planned something for their leisure team. Even if it was something as simple as a card game.

Scout, too, had noticed that sitting outside the base at night had become less comfortable, even with a fire burning. The temperature wouldn’t go anywhere close to the freezing point, however, the wind had freshened up and even without ice and snow, it would be chilly at night. So it had only been a matter of days when the Sniper would put an end to their campfire chats. What he hadn’t expected was an invitation to join him along with the others.

 

“Nothing to get red about, kid, it’s just a game of card among friends. But don’t ya even think of cheating!” He chuckled and ruffled again through the Scout’s still wet hair.

“Eh, as if a dumbass like you could catch me at it!”

Busy with their banter they left the shower room, laughing. Almost they missed the small figure waiting for them in the corridor, when the indignant clearing of a throat caught their attention.

 

“Good evening, gentleman.” A skeptical pair of eyes seized them up.

“I hope this is not the attire you think appropriate for dinner?”

The two men exchanged a questioning look. They hadn’t known that one of their superiors – the administrator’s right hand none of the less – would visit the base today. The Scout shrugged.

“Good evening, Miss Pauling,” the Sniper finally addressed the small, dark-haired woman, bowing slightly, when she cleared her throat in disapproval for the second time.

“Don’t ya worry, we were just heading for our rooms, getting into clean clothes. Easier to keep them dry there,” he explained with a sheepish grin.

“Comforting. Anyway. Scout, the administrator wishes to talk to you,” she came right to the point.

“What? Why? I haven’t done anything wrong!” Warily, he glanced at the Sniper, fearing for a moment that he had said or done something that raised the older man’s suspicion, anything that would be a reason for the Sniper to file an complaint. But the Sniper’s face spoke of the same confusion he felt himself.

No, Scout couldn’t think of anything lately that should have caused him enough trouble to bring the administrator into the house.

“You’ll see in due time. Hurry now,” Miss Pauling urged him on.

“Go, kid. I’ll try to save a bite or two for ya.” For the third time this evening, the Sniper’s fingers disheveled Scout’s hair before he turned around and strode towards his room down the end of the corridor.

 

“Alright,” Scout sighed. “I’m gonna run and get dressed, gonna be back in a few minutes. Geez, lady, I’m sure I can dress without your help.” Annoyed, he rolled up his eyes when Miss Pauling followed him into his room and went straight for the dresser.

“I’m sure you can, but we can _not_ waste any more time. Who knows how long it would take you to find anything in this mess. Here!” She had opened one of the drawers, frowning at the chaos of unfolded pants, single socks and wrinkled shirts that greeted her.

She picked a pair of trousers and a gray, casual shirt, throwing them to the Scout. He caught them with one hand, the other trying to keep the towel in place.

“Eh, sorry, but….”

“Of course, here. And now hurry please.”

Scout gave her a scowl and snatched a pair of underpants from her slim fingers, but he didn’t protest. As soon as she turned her back to him, he tossed the towel aside and dressed as quickly as he could.

 

_‘Wonderful. To make things worse, if I tell Sniper later about this he’ll probably envy me.’_

She turned back towards him when he had just put his shirt on. Before he could walk past her and search the drawers for a fresh pair of socks, she had already pushed him out of his room.

“Scout, I really must insist that you hurry up. The administrator and I are already behind our schedule thanks to your late return from the battle. I assure you that everything else can wait.”

He swallowed a rude reply. Better he accepted that for now, it was wiser to shut up and play along. The sooner he’d be over with it, whatever _it_ meant in this case.

Scout couldn’t help but wonder how deftly the little woman rushed along the corridor on her heels; he had to hurry to keep up with her. As they left the corridor and headed for the administrator’s office in silence, he felt like walking barefooted towards his doom.

An eye-to-eye conversation with the sharp-tongued boss was never pleasant, even if it was only about the weather.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like a circle in a spiral  
> Like a wheel within a wheel  
> Never ending or beginning  
> On an ever spinning reel
> 
> As the images unwind  
> Like the circles  
> That you find  
> In the windmills of your mind ("The Windmills of Your Mind" - Dusty Springfield)

**Where dignity and pride fought for their place**

**\- Part 4 -**

 

 

“Well, Mr. Scout, are you finally finding the time to honor us with your presence?” the harsh administrator greeted them impatiently before he had the chance to say anything.  
  
“We... I was taking a shower, and didn't know you - “ he began, but with a wave of her hand, the elderly woman cut him short.  
  
“Let's not waste any more of my precious time.”  
After a long pull on her cigarette, her frown changed into a wide smile. The way the white teeth flashed at him, the smile reminded Scout of a shark who would tear its lunch to pieces any moment. That the shark was a woman wearing purple lipstick matching her purple lady's suit didn't make her look any less dangerous.  
  
  
“So I'm in trouble,” he decided to take the bull by its horns. Or the shark by its fins or whatever metaphor worked best in his case, he didn't really care.  
  
“Not as far as I know.” The administrator stubbed out her cigarette and stood up. Scout couldn't help staring at her hair. It wouldn't have surprised him if the single white streak and the otherwise black mass were both dyed.  
  
  
 _'Man, is that even  hair or painted cement? How much hairspray does that thing need? Three bottles a day?'_  
  
He bit on his lip to hide his grin. This would be interesting to discuss with the Sniper and the other guys later.  
  
She had stopped shuffling through her documents and walked around her desk.  
  
  
“You are transferred to the BLU team. Here are your files. Study the instructions, they are a reminder of the contract you have signed when I decided to employ you. Once you leave the building, you are not to talk about RED's affairs to anyone. I must insist on absolute secrecy, otherwise – well, let's hope it won't come to that. Miss Pauling will accompany outside. Goodbye and thank you for your hard work.” She pushed a bundle of sheets into his hands and walked past him, not showing any sign she acknowledged the young man's expression of aghast disbelief.  
  
  
“WHY?” He turned around abruptly and called after her before she left the room.  
“I mean,” he lowered his volume, “BLU is the enemy! Is this... some kind of secret mission?” A weak glimmer of hope rose inside of him. This either had to be a joke or a new kind of mission, although this sounded like it was more up the Spy's alley. But a look into her face extinguished any hope of a misunderstanding.  
  
“Well, Mr. BLU Scout, as you do not belong to my team anymore, I don't owe you an explanation, but as I have to admit that the decision was made on a very short notice, I will be generous.  
  
Your predecessor, RED Scout, has recovered from his accident and will be fit for service tomorrow, as we learned a few days ago. You are not of any use for me, so I agreed to the offer I received for you.”  
  
  
“Wait, you _sold_ me?! I'm not a fucking slave! This is a sick joke!” Furiously, he threw the documents she had given him away. Unimpressed by his rage, the pieces of paper slowly glided to the floor, resting peacefully on the dark red carpet.  
  
The administrator sighed and looked at her watch.  
  
“Are the preparations finished?” she addressed Miss Pauling.  
  
“Everything should be prepared within the next ten minutes. I'll go and make sure they are done in five.” At her boss' approving nod, the younger woman rushed out of the office, leaving the Scout alone with the administrator.  
  
  
“Listen, boy,” she began, impatience and annoyance dripping from every word. She took a step towards the Scout, pointing one boney finger at his chest, so close that he feared that the hard, pointy tip of the nail would pierce through his skin right into his heart.  
  
“I wouldn't be where I am if I wasted my time with joking. As soon as I've left you'll pick up the papers, every single sheet. You can read through them on your way to your new base, then you'll see that you've signed that I can sell you to any team I want as long as the contract lasts. I'm running a business, but I doubt you understand it and I'm not interested in explaining the art of making money to a donkey.  
  
Well, let's make it very simple for you: if a baseball team receives a good price for one of its players, selling them to the rival team is nothing unheard of. In the next battle, former team-mates become enemies. Only that we have better things to do than playing silly games.  
  
So this is the fact: you are not a member of my team anymore. By now, your data should be deleted from our respawn system. You are one of my enemies and if I decided to kill you now, it would be final.  
  
So be a good boy and play along.”  
  
  
He gulped. This woman was serious, there was no doubt about that.  
  
“When do I have to leave?”  
  
“Now. As soon as Pauling returns to escort you out of my base.”  
  
  
Something in him froze and the cold feeling spread from somewhere in his gut through his whole body.  
  
There was no misunderstanding.  
  
The nights he had spent outside, how he first forced his company on the Sniper and was accepted as a comrade, maybe even a friend, after while. The towers of empty beer cans, the bullets shot through them, all this didn't matter. He wasn't part of it anymore.  
  
There wouldn't be a game of poker tonight, and no more suppressed shudders when the Sniper's hand rested casually on his arm or shoulder.  
  
  
“Your belongings are being packed and removed from the Scout's room this very moment. We'll sent the boxes to your new accommodation. Minus the RED uniform.”  
  
“But, the others...”  
  
“Pauling will inform them once you are finally gone. Ah, there she is. Everything ready?”  
  
“Yes. I'll meet you at the headquarters once I'm finished here.”  
  
“Very good. I'm on my way.” Without any word of goodbye, the administrator marched out of the room.  
  
  
“Come. The car is waiting.” If there was a hint of sympathy in her voice, the Scout would have failed to notice it. Right now, no matter what she had said, the only thing he wanted to do was punching that ridiculously polite smile from her face. And afterwards, while he was at it, to run after the damned administrator and strangle that fucking hag by her scrawny neck.  
  
He did neither. His teeth ground when he pressed his jaws together as he knelt down and picked up the scattered papers.  
  
  
He followed her outside, walking a few steps behind her, but his mind stopped when they passed the intersection leading to the common room. He imagined the faces of the others, the Sniper's chuckles when the Engineer fell for his bluff and folded his cards. He wondered if they had minded if he had had a quick dinner while joining them in their game or if they had told him to eat alone in the dinning room. Or if the Sniper had stayed behind with him until he would have finished. Unlikely, but it didn't matter anymore.  
  
  
“Can I tell them goodbye?” he asked in a subdued voice; maybe Miss Pauling was less hard than her boss, but unfortunately for him, she wouldn't go against the administrator’s orders.  
  
“I'm afraid not. Well, it's not like you'll never see them again, after all, you won't be sent to a different battleground. You are enemies now, but I'm sure you'll get used to it soon.”  
  
  
He wondered if this was an attempt to cheer him up, if it was, it didn't work at all. He thought of begging, or simply disobeying and running back to the others, but that wouldn't change anything and only cause trouble. For him and probably for the others.  
  
  
“Goodbye, Scout,” Miss Pauling bid farewell to him once he had climbed into the dark blue limousine that waited outside.  
“May you do well in your new position. Not too well though, after all, it's a rival team.” She smiled kindly at him and closed the door.  
  
The light in the car was dim; the windows of the doors where mirrored from both sides. Nobody could look inside, and he couldn't look outside. This way, he knew, the companies wanted to keep the location of the bases a secret, even to the mercenaries.  
  
Although all he could only imagine the shape of the building, he stared at the window. The engine started and slowly, the car rolled from the base's driveway.  
  
For months he hadn't been a real part of the team, and he hadn't even cared.  
  
 _'Nothing to get red about, kid, it's just a game of cards among friends.'_  
  
The unhappy face of a young man stared back at him. With a rueful smile, he ran his fingers through his shaggy, almost dry hair. The Sniper had messed it up thoroughly.  
  
  
 _'Seemed like you were right, mom. I'm an idiot. I made the foolish mistake you warned me about. But don't worry, even if I wanted to – I don't have the opportunity to do something stupid anymore.'_  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
Scout tilted his head back, letting out a low moan. Strong hands wandered over his naked body, over his hips. Knowing fingers began to stroke his cock. A tall body pressed him against the wall of the shower cabin, the tiles cold against his back, despite the hot water running over them.  
  
“Ya have no idea how much I wanted ya, kid,” a hoarse voice whispered into his ear. Rough lips slowly kissed along his throat.  
  
“Of course you did, man. Thought I didn't notice the way you touched me all the time ?” Scout chuckled, playfully biting the Sniper's shoulder as he eagerly pushed him out of the cabin. They had reached the wooden bench where they usually dropped their dirty clothes on after a battle. Sniper sat down.  
  
“Just hope nobody catches us. They'll kill me.” This worry didn't stop Scout from swiftly climbing on the Sniper's lap and straddling him.  
  
“I'll stop them if they try. Or ya just try and don't be too noisy.”  
  
“Geez, as if an old bastard like you could ever make me -” The rest of the sentence was swallowed by a loud, deep groan. The Sniper had grabbed him by his hip and pulled him down on his hard cock. The large, hot organ entered him easily.  
  
“I can't? Oh, then I guess I have to try harder. Hope ya can take it!” With that, the Sniper began to thrust into him. Groaning with pleasure, Scout tried to meet the rhythm.  
  
Scout bent forward, touching rough lips with his. They tasted salty from the sweat running over their bodies.  
  
“My hot, horny Scout,” the Sniper whispered, seized the Scout's hair and pulled him into a deep kiss.  
  
He couldn't withstand the pressure anymore. The muscles in his thighs and abdomen seemed to tremble. One more stroke – and the warm, viscid liquid covered his hand in pulsating streams.  
  
  
Scout opened his eyes and waited a moment for the trembling to stop, recovering his breath.  
  
From outside, he heard steps rushing along the corridor. He turned his head and checked his alarm clock. With a sigh, he stood up, careful not to smear up the mess on his hand more than necessary.  
He picked up a tissue from his nightstand and wiped first his fingers, then his dick clean. For a moment he wondered if he should take a quick shower, but decided against it. He had last evening right before going to bed and furthermore, it was only a few more minutes until breakfast. Washing his hands should do.  
He tossed  the used tissue carelessly to the floor, opened the dresser and took out a fresh uniform.  
  
*  
  
  
“Guten Morgen, Scout!” The Medic briskly waved at him when Scout just had stepped outside his room and closed the door behind him.  
  
“Morning!” he called after the German who had already scudded past him. Quickly, he followed him, fishing out the dog-tags from under  the shirt, and straightening and pulling the fabric in shape.  
  
  
A few minutes later, he joined the noisy crowd at the breakfast table. Most greeted them with a friendly “hello”, those who where too busy chewing nodded into his direction. He grinned at them and hurried to sit down on the last empty chair.  
  
“Pass me the milk, will ya?” He gave the Engineer next to him a friendly nudge. “Thanks man!”  
  
“Is not big deal,” Heavy grunted in response after shoving a basked with a few remaining slices of bread towards the Scout.  
  
“Yo, lad, me, Engie and Sniper are havin' a leetle drink and shooting contest tonight. Don't ye wanna join?”  
  
“Who would want to join you at a drinking contest?” Soldier barked at the Demoman. “You are cheating!”  
  
“Ha!” the Demoman laughed. “Old me cheating? Yer just as bad as drinking as a wean!”  
  
“Intolerable! I will show you how a real man drinks, just wait, cyclops!”  
  
  
Scout laughed with them and agreed. This was a good way to start a day.  
  
Three weeks had passed since he had been transferred to Team BLU.  
  
To his great surprise, he was feeling very comfortable with his new team-mates. They had welcomed him from the very first day and quickly, he had become one of them. Working had become very different from what he had experienced while still at RED's team. Truth to be told, when he had gotten out of the car, he had been sure that from now on, things could only become worse.  
  
  
Fortunately, he had been wrong. Well, maybe it had helped him that this time, he had tried to avoid making the same mistakes from the time when he had joined RED. Besides that, he was sure that not being hopeless at using his gun was an advantage as well.  
  
He glanced at the Sniper of his new team. Tall, but not as tall as RED's. A nice, friendly guy who readily joked and laughed with the Scout. He was from Australia as well, though his accent was less strong. Scout guessed him at least five years younger than the rival Sniper.  
  
Yes, a nice guy, but no matter how nice, he wasn't the Sniper Scout couldn't stop thinking of. Every morning, when his brain was still too tired to kick the stupid, lanky idiot out of his mind - along with his stupid chuckles and smiles and the absurdly hoarse voice that was even seductive when he only asked for a stupid beer.  
  
  
Scout wondered if the Sniper had already forgotten about the time they had spent together; as friends, of course. Or something like that. If he was happy to have the former Scout back.  
  
 _'Who is so great and so quick and such a skillful, fun, oh so lovely person, and everyone adores him. Great way to dampen the mood, idiot,'_ he scolded himself, took a forceful bite from his sandwich and chewed angrily.  
  
 _'Drinking and shooting contest. Sounds perfect. Beats being a silly, lovesick faggot anytime.'_  
  
*  
  
  
Laughter, chatter and mutual shouts of encouragement broke off the moment the countdown started. Every morning, when only 10 second remained, Team BLU fell silent and listened.  
  
Blending out the sounds of his and the other men's breathing, Scout listened closely. Was there the noise of a flamethrower? The spinning sound of a mini-gun, or the beep signal of a vigilant sentry nearby? Or voices. All sounds of men and devices prepared to fire at them the moment the gate opened and they made their first step outside.  
  
  
“You! Run, draw the fire to you. If you survive, you know what to do. We'll have your back asap!” had the Soldier instructed him a few minutes ago and he had nodded.  
  
So far, he didn't hear a sentry, that was good - he could try as hard as he wanted, a Heavy was far easier to outrun than one of those fully upgraded beasts, especially at the start of a mission.  
  
Finally, with squeaking and screaming hinges and gear wheels, the door moved.  
  
  
Scout pulled his cap further into his face, shielding his eyes from the sun. He couldn't see anything through the bright wall of light.  
Before the door was fully open, he darted away, hoping for the best as he ran and jumped without following a path or pattern.  
Around him, rockets and bullets were fired, but he was already unable to tell the enemies' weapons apart from those of his own team.  
  
  
“Damn, that was one lucky run.” He decided that he had left the commotion far enough behind. His head held low, he took cover behind a stack of old tires and wooden crates.  
  
“Geez, lucky indeed.”  
  
In their shelter, he had been so focused on the sounds outside, that he had forgotten to draw his pistol from the holster. If he had been confronted with one of the REDs within the last minute, he would have been sent back to the respawn room for sure.  
  
He armed himself, not a second to late, as he heard voices from the other side of his hideout, one of them very familiar, one unknown. Inch by inch, he crawled towards the edge of the pile, hoping he wouldn't make any treacherous sound or upset one of the crates, or do anything else that would give him away. Glancing past the corner, he spotted three men running up the hill, probably just returning from respawn.  
  
  
He frowned. RED's Sniper patted their Scout on the back and shouted, along with the Soldier, a few words of encouragement after that idiot before they ran into different directions.  
  
“Scout!” the wheezing voice of BLU's Soldier called him over his headphones, “have you found his position yet?”  
  
“Nope. Not yet,” he growled and, the pistol at the ready, dashed off, right after the Scout.  
  
  
With a smug grin on his face, he caught up with him in no time; in moments like this, he remembered the Sniper's words from that one night -  
  
 _“To be honest, I think you're faster than him, good job on that.”_  
  
He certainly was. No matter how good that idiot was, he would always be faster, at running and at reacting, and he would make sure that the moron learned that lesson for good.  
  
Before the Scout in the red uniform could turn around to face his chaser, Scout aimed and fired, and with a straight shot through his enemy's face, he sent him back to the respawn-room.  
  
  
“Slowpoke, never knew what hit him.”  
  
“Scout!” He flinched when the Soldier barked directly into his ears, at top volume of his voice.  
  
“Yeah, I'm checking, I'm checking, any moment!” Alright, he had his fun, time to find the Engineer's spot. This should be easy, there were only a few clever points to set up the sentry around this part of the battlefield, and as he couldn't hear neither the sound of that thing nor the clangs from the Engineer's wrench, the options were narrowed down to two.  
  
One guess was as good as the other, so he dashed towards the nearest possibility.  
  
Before he reached the bend of the rocky path, a firm smash against his back brought him down. The air was pressed out of his lungs, cutting his yell off when he crashed to the ground.  
  
Quickly, he rolled over the sand to face his attacker. Of course, who else. RED's Scout was back, raising his baseball bat a second time.  
  
  
“Moron,” he hissed, evading the blow. The pain of the first hit still seemed to echo up and down his spine. Gritting his teeth, he scrambled back onto his feet and reached for his own bat.  
  
“Come and get me, asshole!” he yelled. The other Scout obliged and this time, he was the faster one.  
Deafened by the cracking of his own skull, BLU Scout's vision faded.  
  
The fading headache was the first thing he felt, the next moment, he opened his eyes. His health fully restored, Scout awakened in the respawn-room, the bones mended, the last pain in his head dissolving. What remained was his frustration.  
  
  
“Freaking motherfucker, I'll get ya for this! I'll teach ya to leave him alone if ya know what's good for ya, ya sorry piece of crap!”  
  
“Is Scout okay? Problem with battle?”  
  
He winced. Blinded by his rage, he hadn't noticed he wasn't alone. Forcing himself to smile, he gave the worried Heavy a friendly nudge.  
  
“Nah, man, everything's good. Come on, let's do some ass whupping!”  
  
* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the rating, as there are some tiny, naughty lines in this chapter. Beside that, Scout should really watch his language, tsk.
> 
> Not really important, but I prefer the Petula Clark-version of the song qouted above.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter about two guys who fortunately are mercenaries because they would be awful diplomats or ambassadors.

#  ****

**Where dignity and pride fought for their place**

**\- Part 5 -**

  
  
During the last months of the year, the nights arrived soon. Once the dust and dirt calmed down and found their rest until the next day's battle, the sun returned behind the horizon and finally, within less than two hours, disappeared, leaving the world to the dark sky with its tiny spots of cold light.  
  
Wind was constantly blowing during the last season, and with it, fresh air came up. The temperature never dropped far enough to freeze the water or bring snow, but without a jacket – or at least long sleeves – it was too chilly to stay outside for long.   
  
  
This night, at least, the moody climate spared them with another dry sandstorm tonight, and as the sky was clear with no clouds in sight, it would hopefully remain like this for a while.  
  
Despite the darkness and only a crescent moon as a source of light, RED's Sniper recognized the silhouette of the young man leaning against his van at once.   
  
  
“Are ya completely insane? What the fuck are ya doing here?” Sniper hurried towards the Scout, who welcomed him with a wide, triumphant smirk.   
  
“Just paying a former co-worker a visit. Beer?”   
  
Sniper knew better than accepting a drink from a member of a rival team. Yet, at the Scout's smug demeanor and smile, his arm lifted itself and his hand naturally caught the chilled beer can.  
  
  
“Dammit, kid, we are enemies now, ya really should take to yer heels and scram!” Alarmed, he lowered his voice when he felt he was too close to shouting at his nightly visitor.   
  
“Bullshit, it's ceasefire. I can do what I want during my free time.” The Scout took another beer from the bag resting at his feet and opened it.   
  
“Dammit!” Scout cursed and held the can with the fizzing liquid away from his body, shaking his wet hands, upsetting his beverage even more.  
  
“Dolt.” Sniper couldn't help chuckling at the sight. It was just like the kid – he probably had come running all this way without considering the consequences for the poor beverages.   
Nevertheless, the Sniper was grateful for the entertaining warning and put his own beer to the ground; he preferred to open it when the drink had settled. If he decided to open it at all. He shouldn't even consider it, let alone wasting valuable time!  
  
  
“Kid, this ain't no joke! Ya'll get both of us in trouble, with RED and BLU, when they figure out ya've sneaked out and that we are talking here! Grab ya stuff and leave!” But any attempt of persuasion failed to impress the thick-skinned Scout  
  
“Come on, man, relax!” he just laughed the warning off. “They didn't caught me the last four nights, why should they this time?”   
  
“Because ya shouldn't – wait a minute!” Sniper interrupted himself when the Scout's words sunk in.   
  
“ _Last four nights?!_ Ya've been been out here, in enemy's territory, _four nights?_ For _hours_? Are ya fucking craz – there was a storm two nights ago!”  
  
“Chill, man.” Scout had held his breath from the second he had finished his last sentence and realized he had revealed more than he intended to. Slowly, he exhaled, then shrugged.  
  
“Whatever. I'm here, there's no storm tonight, so just grab ya beer and have a chat. Just like in the good old times. Man, that's stupid!” He chuckled, wiping his hand on his shirt. “I'm talking like an old man. It has just been a month or so, right?”   
  
_'27 days, to be precise, but who's counting anyway. You certainly not,'_  he added in his mind, but he saw no reason why he should discuss the fact that the Sniper had obviously missed him less than the other way around.  
Cheering him on with a smile, Scout raised his beer and took a long gulp.   
  
  
“No, no, no! That's enough, kid, don't even think of making yaself comfortable!” Shaking his head, Sniper pushed the Scout aside and opened the side door of the van and climbed inside, only to jump out again a short moment later, with a suitcase in his hand.   
  
“Besides, I ain't planing to stay outside for long, just gonna fetch some stuff and return right away.” He slammed the door shut.   
  
“Leave. Now!”  
  
  
“Come on, man, is that how ya treating a friend?” Scout had maintained his relaxed attitude easily so far, but now, his mouth twitched and his voice became less patient.   
  
“We are not friends anymore, we are enemies! Dammit, kid, ya know bloody well that I'm authorized to kill ya!”  
  
  
“Goddammit, that's all freaking bullshit!” Scout shouted back. Furiously, he smashed the beer to the ground and grabbed the Sniper by the collar of the shirt.  
  
“I'm sick of this crap! Different teams, and nothing counts anymore? Drinking, joking, fighting and all that shit? It took me months to become your friend and then that old hag signs a fucking piece of paper and that's it? Damn ya, I'm still the fucking same just with different clothes!” He let go of the Sniper and pulled at his own, blu shirt.  
  
“Fuck, it even is the same fucking shirt, just the colors are different!”  
  
“Scout...”  
  
“No! Screw ya fucking 'Scout...'! This time, you shut up and listen to me!” While talking, he stomped towards the beer Sniper had put down a few minutes ago, picked it up and shoved it into the Sniper's hands.   
  
“Ya gonna sit down, drink this fucking beer and have a fucking chat, with Nate, 23 years old and ya friend. And if ya can't forget that I'm BLU's Scout for one fucking night because ya choose ya friends by the color of their shirt...” He glared at the Sniper, gasping for air.  
  
“Then you are a fucking asshole,” he finished. He had yelled before, now he was calm and serious as he watched the Sniper sitting down and opening the beer.  
  
  
“WHAT?!” he croaked when the Sniper suddenly began to chuckle and, finally, broke out into cheerful laughter.  
  
“What's so funny?”  
  
“Ya know,” Sniper answered between two gulps of beer, “ya know, you're right. Completely, bloody right. You're the same. Twitchy, stubborn, proud. Easy to provoke and outspoken. No color of any shirt is ever gonna change that!”  
  
“Damn right,” Scout agreed, realizing the stubborn tone of his own voice and feeling unsure if  the Sniper's words were a compliment or an insult. He settled with not caring and sat down, too, next to the other man. From his bag, he grabbed a fresh drink.   
  
  
For a moment, they drank in silence. The tension from before had not fully vanished between them, but slowly, both men relaxed around each other.   
  
“So Nat e it is, right? Short for Nathaniel?” Sniper finally asked.  
  
“Nathan.”  
  
“Like Nathan, the Wise, eh?”  
  
“Who?” Scout paused in his movement to take another sip and blinked in confusion, trying to remember if he had heard that name before.  
  
“Nathan, the Wise, is a guy from a book who - “ Sniper wondered how to sum up the old novel from his school days.  
  
“A guy who insisted that all people are the same, no matter which group they belonged to. Only that he was talking about religion,” he finally explained with a smile.  
  
“Sounds cool,” Scout grinned back.   
  
“But nah, never heard of it. No, ya know, one of my brother's name's Ethan, guess my mom thought somewhat similar sounding names are cool.”  
  
“I see.” Sniper wanted to ask more about that brother, or the Scout's family in general. But he noticed a sudden change of Scout's smile, nothing he could really put his finger on. Yet it had been there and he felt it was better to refrain from talking about the kid's family.   
  
  
“What's your name?” Scout changed the topic.  
  
“Darren.”  
  
“Do you read a lot, Darren? Can't remember seeing ya with a book.”  
  
“It's a good think to do at night when traveling alone. After months and a strangely busy summer, I actually have more time for reading during the evenings again,” he suddenly laughed.   
  
“Wonder how that happened. Come on, kid, don't be so serious.” Still chuckling, he tapped against the Scout's cap when he glowered at him with furrowed brows.  
  
“Haven't talked to ya for almost a month and you're still not funny,” Scout remarked dryly, holding his hat in place.  
  
“Nah, I beg to differ.” Clearly in a light, good mood, he emptied his beer, put the can aside, and checked his watch.  
  
  
“Okay, Nate. It's gettin' late, I have to go back. And ya better hurry and return, too.” He stood up, offering Scout his hand, to pull him up, too, but Scout only stared at him, his forehead still wrinkled.  
  
“Geez, suddenly, in such a hurry again? Is your precious Scout waiting or what?” he snapped. A voice in his head warned him to shut up, but he couldn't. He had enjoyed the last minutes, and the abrupt end of his time with the Sniper had caught him off-guard. Even if he called himself childish – he didn't want to be reasonable.  
  
“What has he to do with anything?” Sniper seemed to be genuinely puzzled. Or Maybe he was just faking it, Scout couldn't tell.  
  
“But as ya mention him yaself,” the Sniper continued. “Is it true? Are ya giving him a hard time? He's complaining for weeks now that BLU Scout seems to have it in for him.”   
  
“Oh geez, what a pussy,” Scout sneered. The Sniper sounded amused when he asked, but he still wasn't sure which side he was on. Stupid question, of course on RED Scout's side. After all, that was natural, they were team-mates, and didn't Sniper himself once tell him that they've been friends in the past? Or something like that. Whatever it was, it was irritating.   
  
  
“Tell him it's the point of the battle to kill each other. If it's too much for the poor baby, he should go home to his mommy.”  
  
“No need to get pissed. You are right, of course.” Sniper shrugged; he hadn't planned to start an argument, however,  he couldn't help wondering about the plain animosity towards his team's Scout, especially as the two young men had met for the first time only a few weeks ago, during a battle.  
  
“And ya putting up one hell of a fight, especially against him. Well, what was it... so far, ya've shot him in the face, multiple times at close range. Ya've shot him in the groin, more than once, leaving him to bleed to death. Ya pushed him from a ledge, jumping after him, trying to beat the crap out of him. The list goes on. Wouldn't call that the most tactical methods,” he closed his explanation.  
  
“And you're an expert of the tactics for Scouts since when?”  
  
“Take it easy, kid, no offense meant,” Sniper raised his hands in defense, hoping he could calm him down enough before Scout's temper flared up again.  
  
“All that seems kinda like a personal matter. Just wondering what's your problem with him. Anything ya want to share?” he offered, but Scout gave a snort.  
  
“Want a list? He's slow, he's arrogant, and he's a crybaby. He's a dork!” he cried out, so sure in his opinion that he wondered he still had to state the obvious when everyone should know that already. Even if the truth was different and the only fact obvious was that he was getting carried away with his jealousy.   
  
  
Sniper saw neither of the truths, he only laughed, once more amused by the Scout's outspoken manner.  
  
“Come on, kid, he's not that bad, he's a fine young man!”  
  
  
Scout was fed up with listening to Sniper praising that other Scout. Dammit, if that stupid idiot had kicked the bucket after his stupid accident instead of returning to team RED, nobody would waste a second thought on that wimp. He wouldn't have to sneak out and run into enemy territory, risking not only his job, but his life, because he thought he was going crazy if he didn't see this goddamned, ignorant old fool again soon.  
  
  
“Yeah, that's the point, ain't it? He's such a fine man, and I'm just a kid. You're best buddies and I don't know what. I'm just a childish intruder who's been stealing your time, ain't that right?” Shouting the last words, he jumped back to his feet. Unable to hold his hand still, he pointed angrily at the Sniper, then at himself.  
  
“Dammit, kid, keep it low!” the Sniper hissed. In distraught, he glanced over his own shoulder, praying that nobody would hear the commotion. By now, he, too, lost his composure.   
  
“Ya've said it yaself, you are an intruder! Nate, don't ya get it? It's actually my bloody duty to shoot ya for trespassing! And respawn is off during ceasefire! What's ya bloody problem?!”  
  
“What's my bloody problem? I tell ya what's my bloody problem! YOU! Because you're a dense, clueless idiot, _that's my problem!_ ” He gave a bitter laugh at the Sniper's confused expression. So even if he yelled all his frustration into that idiot's face – he didn't get it.   
  
Scout laughed a second time, but it didn't help. Unable to keep the facade up any longer, he gave it up.  
  
  
Taking a step forward, he turned his cap around so it wouldn't be in the way and seized the Sniper by his shirt for the second time today.   
  
“If ya don't get it yet you're retarded,” he growled and pulled the taller man into a kiss.   
  
Acting on an impulse, controlled by frustration and fear, this kiss wasn't soft or romantic in any way he used to imagine it. His own voice of reason screamed in his head, urging him to let go and run for it, and never come back here again.  
  
But as breathing suddenly became difficult, his mind felt lighter. The Sniper's breath was warm against his face, and how the lips felt rough while his own were soft.   
The kiss wasn't returned, but Scout also wasn't pushed away. There was the bitter aftertaste from beer and cigarettes, and in the cold night, he felt the Sniper's warmth through their shirts.  
  
Scout pressed closer against the Sniper's body, letting his tongue move over the other man's lips.  
  
  
Suddenly, he was shoved away. Scout blinked, but before he understood why he was feeling cold again, a sudden pain flashed through his jaws when a fist hit him, and he tumbled backwards. Slowly realizing what had been happening, he wiped his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. Fortunately, no blood.  
  
“Oh my god! You are a bloody...” unable to finish the sentence, the Sniper stared at him, looking so stunned and lost that Scout couldn't help laughing. He checked for a last time if he really wasn't bleeding. Straightening his back, he lifted his head and gave the Sniper a defying look.  
  
“A bloody fag. That's correct. A freaking fag that happens to like ya.” He still chuckled, while the Sniper's expression grew dark.  
  
“Get lost. And never come here again.”  
  
“What's your problem, man?” He took a step backwards, to remain out of the Sniper's reach. His tongue had felt for any broken teeth – fortunately, no sharp edges, but he guess that a second punch, not thrown because of surprise, would probably end really painfully. He better didn't push his luck.  
  
Well, maybe just a little bit.   
  
  
He grinned, flinching at the pain; his bottom lip would be swollen and purple tomorrow.  
  
“My problem? Yar bloody fag had the nerve to kiss me!” Sniper had forgotten about his own warnings, raising his voice to a dangerous level.  
  
“Yeah. And ya liked it!” He jumped to the side when the Sniper attempted to attack him again.  
  
“Don't deny it! Just admit that you liked it! Ya like me!” The cheerfulness he had felt at the sudden rush of adrenalin – from both the kiss and the punch in the face – was already changing back to the fear from before. Scout wasn't a gambler, but right now, he didn't know what else to do. He wasn't ready to give up yet.  
  
“Certainly not, ya bloody freak!”  
  
“And what's with the time we've spent together? Ya touched me all the time! I had yer hands all over me, my arms, my shoulders, my waist... Are ya really telling me that didn't mean anything at all to you?” He hurled the words at him, feeling betrayed by his own voice that refused to sound all encouraging and happy and instead gave more of his frustration away than he wanted the Sniper to know about.  
  
“Dammit, kid, that was just... among friends! But nothing like _THAT_!” At this point, both men rivaled each other in their desperation.  
  
“Oh really? Pah!” Scout snorted, putting as much sarcasm as he could into his words, relieved that he was again in control over his voice. “Of course you don't like me at all. It's nothing like _that_. You hated _that_ so much, that's why I could clearly feel how much you hated _that_.” The mocking disdain changed into a knowing smirk as he pointed at the Sniper's crotch.  
  
“Who are ya trying to fool? Ya liked _THAT_ alright a moment ago. Trust me, I can judge that pretty well.”  
  
“I should shoot ya right here and right now...!” Sniper growled through clenched teeth and turned around, busily checking if he had locked the car.  
  
“Do it! Come on! Shoot me!” Laughing cheerfully, Scout opened his arms.  
  
“But that's a problem, right? Ya CANNOT shoot me!” Finally, it was time to play his trump card.  
  
“Pah, what makes ya bloody freak think...”  
  
“Ya cannot and ya know that! Crap, Darren, I've been fighting for BLU almost a month now and ya magical bullets haven't even  given me a scratch, let alone killed me!”  
  
“How should I shoot ya if ya sick bastard know where I usually hide and avoid crossing my bloody scope?” Sniper spat out, turning around and facing the Scout again. Every sign of a smile or of the amusement he usually felt around the Scout had disappeared from his face and voice.   
  
“Well, look who has noticed that much.” Scout inhaled deeply, hoping he didn't just imagine the faint hints of fear and confusion in the other man's eyes. If he did, and in reality, there really was only anger and disgust... It was too late to worry about that, he had already gone too far. He breathed out, speaking slowly and calmly as he could.  
  
  
“Why haven't you changed the spot, eh? Ya stay where you are although ya know that I make use of that. That's fucking everything, but not efficient. Ya sparing me, that's why. Because ya do care for me.”  
  
“Scout. This is ya last chance before I inform the others. Piss off and never come over here again.”  
  
 _'Time to stake everything on one card. No going back now,'_ he urged himself on.  
  
“Alright. But there's one condition: shoot me tomorrow, and I'll leave ya alone. I'll make sure to cross ya fucking scope. Ya just have to aim and kill me, no problem if ya don't give a fuck about me. But I know ya do. Fucking coward.” Holding his head high, Scout gave a snort and turned around before the Sniper could retort.   
With as much dignity he could muster up, he walked away, his steps sure and confident.  
  
  
It wasn't until he was sure he was out of sight and that the Sniper couldn't glare at his back anymore before he broke into a run. With increasing speed, he hoped that the pain in his lungs would shut his mind up.  
  
It obviously wasn't enough that he had been close to losing his mind if he couldn't see him. Being his friend would have been all he had asked for and be enough – or not. Everything was going well and he had felt good, until this sorry excuse of a Scout was mentioned. Even worse, it had been his fault, because he was too jealous to control himself and to keep his mouth shut for once.  
  
  
“God, stupid, stupid, stupid!” After all, the Sniper – Darren – wasn't like him; Darren didn't like men, and Scout had known it all the time, so that other idiot had never been a threat or rival. A fact that, on the whole, didn't make the situation any easier for him.  
  
Suddenly, he stopped, looking back for the first time since he left the Sniper alone with his anger and confusion. In front of him, he couldn't see anything but the battlefield, peacefully resting in the darkness. If he kept the speed up, he would reach BLU's base in less than ten minutes.  
  
 _'The heck with it! So ya're not gay.'_ Scout smirked. He hadn't lied earlier. If he knew a thing or two about kissing a guy, then it was when that kissed guy liked it, whether he admitted it by his own choice or was given a way by a treacherous, very responsive part of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you for all of you who are still reading this and/or leave a kudos or comment! I'm glad you enjoy this little story so far and I hope you will also enjoy the last few chapters to come!

**Author's Note:**

> A note about the title:
> 
> In absence of an own good idea (as I have to admit in all shame) - taken from "All of our boys"/ Flogging Molly.
> 
> Also, I'd like to apologize for the spelling and grammar. These days, I'm without a beta, and as this is just a little project on the side, I feel uneasy bothering others with it. I'll try my best to find the errors myself, but you know how it is - it's always easier to find typos and such in other people's work...
> 
> Thanks for your understanding!


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